


Knight Shift

by rayhne



Category: Friday the 13th: The Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 20:39:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6344338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rayhne/pseuds/rayhne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Curious Goods receives some very unusual and unexpected visitors. Takes place after the events of The Prophecy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Originally appear in the fanzine 'Curses, Foiled Again'.

The young man stood near the window, staring out into the night. It was almost midnight, that time when magiks run the deepest. Outside inverted crosses burned, illuminating the minions of the dark that surrounded them. They were chanting incantations and pressing against the wards set by the sorcerers, trying vainly to bypass the powerful magiks. Even through the protective shields surrounding the house, he could feel the massive evil emanating from the black-robed cultists.

A hand rested on his shoulder lightly, gently squeezing. "Are you ready?" The deep voice came from behind him.

The young man turned slowly from the window to face the white-robed man behind him. Gray-bearded and scar-faced with a hood covering his head, the old man leaned against the ash staff he wielded. Concerned eyes searched the younger man's expressionless face.

"No." the young man said quietly. He looked over the old man's shoulder at the group of young disciples preparing the powders and candles for the upcoming spell. Older sorcerers aided them, advising them as needed, acting as if this was just another lesson and not the last lesson they would ever give or the disciples ever learn. Six people, five just a little younger then he, the last much younger — too young — stood clustered nearby, waiting for him. "There must be another way — something we can do here, now —" He caught the look in the old man's eye. "This might not work!"

"No, it might not. But it also might." The old man turned to look at their adversaries outside. "And — we have no choice. They've grown too powerful. We can no longer fight them." Pale eyes grew dark at the thought of friends no longer living — and friends who, regrettably, did live. "We must cast the spell now."

The young man took a deep breath then nodded reluctantly. The sorcerer smiled slightly, then turned and hobbled back to his companions in the magikal arts. The young man watched him briefly, then slipped his hands from his pockets and flipped a wrist, sending the cane that had dangled from it into the air and catching it on the way down. Setting it firmly to the ground, he limped to the smaller group, the brace encasing his left leg scraping lightly on the stone floor.

"All right, let's begin." The old man gestured the group toward the center of the room. Obediently, the young people obeyed, moving to the center of the pentacle outlined in powder and candles on the floor. The young man paused, facing the old sorcerer. He studied the scarred face briefly, intently, then turned to limp into the pentacle, being careful not to disturb the outline. Once inside, he turned to face the star's point. Behind him, the rest of the group followed suit.

Around them, the white-robed sorcerers began the chants and gestures that would activate the powerful spell. The pentacle burst into bright silver flame. Outside the ancient house, the forces of evil pressed against the rapidly weakening wards. The chanting without increased as the coven members sensed the sorcerers' attention turned elsewhere. Winds roared, sweeping around the house, shattering windows and tearing shingles from the roof.

The young man glanced around with a shiver. The evil was more noticeable, his head throbbed with it. Looking around with bleary eyes, he saw two of the older sorcerers were down, dead or dying most likely. Three more were sagging, only sheer willpower keeping them upright long enough to complete the spell. He returned his eyes to the old man.

The old man was fully upright--one of the few who were — braced on his ash staff. He meet the young man's eyes unflinchingly. _We do what we must do_ , his pale eyes said. _Do what you must do. . ._

The young man closed his eyes, hearing the shriek of the wind the shattering windows, the chanting within and without.

A hand slipped into his.

Opening his eyes, he turned his head to look into a pair of luminous green eyes set in a fine-boned, dark-hued face. Wordlessly, he drew her close, enveloping her in a tight embrace. She clung to him as he looked past her, past the dying flames of the pentacle and into the swirling grayness. The sorcerers were no longer visible, the chanting no longer audible. Another figure, much smaller then the first, pressed against him and he dropped an arm around the little girl's shoulders, holding her close. The other four drew near, forming a tight cluster. All around them the pentacle outlines faded and grayness darkened into blackness.


	2. Chapter 1

"We need their help, _mon amour_." Tarot Morlaix said matter-of-factly from where she sat cross-legged on the floor, dressed in clothing she thought never to wear again, cutoff jeans and shirt. The leather outfit that she had been wearing when they arrived six months ago — could it have been only six months past? — now hung in a room the original builders of the house had never envisioned. If life were fair, she might never have to bring it out again. But, of course, life wasn't fair.

R.C. Moore, who, once long ago, had a very different name, paced back and forth. Here, in the safety of the ward-shielded house, he didn't need the cane and walked with the slightest of limps. Tarot watched him, getting dizzy from his quick turns and aggravated half-stomps. She was just contemplating tackling and pleasantly distracting him when he stopped.

"We can't involve them. We can't meet them."

Tarot flinched at the dead tone of his voice. Part of her wanted to comfort him while the other part wanted to knock some sense into him. "We're working the same circles, R.C. Sooner or later our paths are going to cross. Why not now?"

She stared at R.C.'s back, reading tension in the taut muscles. After a long moment, he turned to face her, dark eyes far too old for one so young. But then, he had lived two lifetimes. "They'll guess — "

" _Peut-etre_. Maybe. More likely not. They don't have to meet you. I'll go talk with them. Or maybe Jesse. Or Britt. They don't know us. At least not yet."

This time it was R.C.'s turn to flinch at the reminder of things that might come. A struggle could be seen in his expressive eyes — the fervent wish not to mingle so closely with his all-too-painful past battling against the need for aid only one man could give them. Need won out.

"We'll leave in the morning." He started to turn, to walk down to join the others.

"We?" Tarot was startled.

R.C. paused, not looking back at her. "Yes, 'we'. I remember enough to find the place. You'll go in to ask the questions. I'll wait outside in case you need me." With that, R.C. walked from the room. Moments later, she heard the rhythmic thump of his brace on the stairs.

In the end five of them went; Jesse Little Horse because he could go where they could not, Amiko Makiko because she was best equipped to defend them all, and Jarita Moore because she refused to be left behind. Even now, the youngest of the group darted about the airport terminal, making a general nuisance of herself. For the third time, Jesse called her to order and she retreated to his side, fidgeting on bare feet that just begged to take off again.

R.C. shook himself free of the reverie that had claimed him since they left New Orleans and looked down at the young girl, frowning. "Where are your sandals?"

Jarita looked at him with brilliant black eyes. "I et 'em!" She proclaimed insolently, jutting out her jaw.

R.C. didn't seem to notice. "Well, regurgitate them and get them on your feet. Now."

Jarita scowled but reluctantly obeyed, digging a pair of sandals from the bag she carried slung over a shoulder and slipping them on. As she finished that task, Amiko reappeared. She tossed a glint of car keys to Jesse then reached for her bag and wooden case.

"Just one car?" R.C. asked and Amiko stopped in mid-stoop.

"I thought that's all we needed."

"Yes." He frowned. "But we don't all need to go." He patted Jarita's head absently and she glared at him. "We'll drop you and Jari off at the hotel then go over to the store."

"Are you sure that is wise?" Amiko looked alarmed.

He looked at her with sober eyes. "They are no danger to us," he reminded her.

"All we need is information. Tarot can get that easily enough while I keep watch outside and Jesse — does his thing. We'll be safe enough."

Amiko didn't look convinced, despite anything R.C. said during the trip to the hotel, and even less convinced when they finally dropped off her, a protesting Jarita and their luggage off. After making them promise to call in two hours and informing R.C. that if they didn't, she'd appear on the doorstep, Amiko herded Jarita inside and the trio pulled away. It took just under an hour to find the store. R.C.'s memory of it wasn't as good as he'd thought. Jesse parked the car but left it running as they surveyed their destination. It was an ancient-appearing store with an antique sign proclaiming 'CURIOUS GOODS'. Items could be seen in the display windows; antique items, reasonable since it was an antique store.

Tarot tore her eyes away from it and looked at R.C., who sat rigidly in the front seat, his face pale and expressionless. 

"Now what?" She murmured.

R.C. didn't answer for a moment and she thought him to be too caught up in ancient memories to have heard her. She opened her mouth to ask again.

"You go inside. Ask the needed questions. I'll keep an eye out there — from that alley. Jesse will find a safe, obscure place to park and check the place out." There was quiet pain in his voice and Tarot realized with alarm that it was physical pain.

"R.C.!"

"I'm fine, Tarot." R.C. opened the door and carefully stepped out, keeping his back to the store. He glanced around and frowned at the emptying street, then at his watch. It was later than he would have liked. Tarot appeared beside him. Slamming the door shut, he slipped an arm around her. "Be careful," he murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead briefly.

She gripped the lapel of his jacket and pulled him forward for a true kiss before spun on her heel and walked across the street. He watched as she opened the door and slipped into the store then turned back to look at Jesse. "Good luck." Straightening, he limped into the nearby alley. Positioning himself in the deepening shadows, he turned and braced himself against the cane, looking over to the store. Jesse, he was pleased to note, had already pulled away.

Now all he could do was wait.

———

Jack Marshak turned to the music of the door chime, putting down the crystal he had been studying. He blinked and took a more careful second look at the incoming customer. She warranted it, with her warm cocoa skin, long black hair and striking green eyes. Dressed casually in a light blouse and skirt, she moved among the cases with a grace that made Jack wish he were 20 years younger or that he at least felt 20 years younger.

She didn't see him, he realized, posed as he was near a stand-alone case, and he savored the moments, waiting until she paused at a case holding ancient tarot cards. She bent slightly, staring intently into the case, not noticing as he left his shelter and approached her.

"May I help you?" he said, in his professional voice. The woman started then spun, almost falling. Automatically, Jack reached forward to steady her. "I'm sorry, miss. I didn't mean to startle you." He smiled reassuringly, a smile that, after a few moments, she returned.

"No problem," she said in an musical voice, tinted with what seemed to be a French accent, though to Jack's ear it sounded odd. "I was, _eneffet_ , looking for you, _M'sieu_ Marshak, correct?"

Jack looked at her, startled. Of course, he was well-known in some circles but he wasn't sure he really wanted to unexpectedly run into others from that circle. He spoke cautiously. "Yes, I'm Jack Marshak. And you are?"

"Jean-Marie Bronet." She walked around a display case, idly running a finger over the glass. "I understand you have some knowledge of the occulte and its related subjects?"

Jack studied her narrowly, thinking back on adversaries that had pretended to be working on the same side as he and his partners only to betray them at inopportune moments. Some of them had presented themselves in a like manner. "Well, I do have some knowledge in that direction, yes. What exactly are you looking for?"

"Information on a Satanist named Astaroth." Almost immediately, she bit her lip, as if realizing she had said something she shouldn't. She seemed to force herself to meet his piercing gaze.

"Astaroth is dead. He overstepped himself." Briefly, Jack was thrown into the not-too-distant past — the mysterious light destroying first the Lucifer Book, then the man who attempted to fulfill its prophecies — a man who had come disturbingly close to succeeding. Why would this woman wish to know of him? And how did she know of him in the first place??

"But his ideas — his purpose — are not," the woman said tersely. The oddness of her accent deepened and, for a brief moment, sounded familiar to Jack. Then he concentrated on her words again. "True evil — like true good — never dies. There is always someone there to pick it up again. What of his followers? Or even his masters?" She paused briefly then plunged onward. "We need to find the coven he lead because — because — " She floundered then blurted, " — because we think they have the last of the Lucifer Books."

"What makes you believe that?" Jack's voice was sharper than he intended and the woman flinched.

"Because we knew where the last Lucifer Book was, but when we went to retrieve it the collector was dead and the tomes gone." She said this very reluctantly and this time Jack correctly identified the accent — it was French Cajun, which she was attempting to disguise as French. "We think it was one of Astaroth's followers or masters or even Astaroth himself." She caught the look on his face and snapped, "Don't look at me like that! You've faced the dead before!"

_And how would you know that?_ Jack thought, frowning. The woman looked at him. "Well?" she prodded.

Jack stared at her speculatively. She was definitely hiding something, but what? Well, there was one way to find out. He turned and walked up the stairs to the desk, reaching for an address book. "First things first. Let's see if we can discover who his followers were and work from there."

"We tried." She followed practically on his heels. "All the coven members seem to use aliases and stay well-hidden."

"That makes sense." Jack pulled his glasses from a pocket. "But if we could find just one of them, we'd at least have a starting point. Until then, how about telling me your interest in all this? And who are 'we'? And — " He looked at her pointedly. "How did you know where the last of the Lucifer Books were?"

The woman's face remained carefully — too carefully — blank, as she began to speak. "We have made a profession of battling the occulte, my people and I. Some months ago, we learned of the existence of the Lucifer books — or rather, by that time, book — from an informant. Following a lead, we managed to track down the last book in the care of a collector of ancient tomes. Unfortunately, when we finally arrived, we found the collector dead and buried and the majority of the tomes stolen." She paused briefly for breath, then plunged onward. "This aroused our curiosity instantly. After all, they had been in her family for generations and most of the occulte community had known it, though I've my doubts anyone knew exactly what was in the collection. Why would someone suddenly want the tomes so badly they'd kill for them? The only thing we could think of is that they — whoever they are — didn't need that Lucifer Book until the one they had was destroyed And they took all of the books to cover the theft of one."

Jack looked at her thoughtfully. While there were gaps in her story he didn't like, the latter bit made sense. "I think I know of the collector. Cynthia Weatherspoon?" The woman nodded. "I'd heard of her murder and of some tomes being stolen but I had no idea she had the last of the Lucifer Books." He found the number he was looking for and reached for the phone.

Forty minutes later, they were little closer to their objective. None of Jack's contacts could put a name to any of Astaroth's followers or to who might have the Book. Jean-Marie was no help here. Her contacts weren't firmly established as yet. She spent the time looking at the books crammed into the shelves or peering over Jack's shoulder.

"Well, that was pretty worthless." Jack rubbed his eyes, sighing. "Except it seems that Astaroth was working on his own. Everyone I spoke to agrees on that. Apparently he thought he could get on Lucifer's — if you excuse the expression — good side by fulfilling the prophecies."

"And, from what I heard, he almost succeeded."

"Hmm." He slipped his glasses back on, thumbing through the address book idly. "Now someone else wants to use it. But for what? To fulfill the prophecies? Or — " He paused thoughtfully. "Or to use the spells within the book."

"Spells?" The woman blinked.

"Oh, yes. There's a section in the book concerning Necromantic spells."

"Oh." Jean-Marie bit her lip, looking as if she regretted ever mentioning the Book.

"Yes, my sentiment exactly. Not many people know of that sealed section of the book and even fewer would dare open it. Astaroth did. That's how he —" He caught himself abruptly, looking up to meet her interested eyes. "Well, that doesn't matter now. What matters is that wandering book. It had to be someone who had been working with Astaroth."

"An apprentice _peut-etre_?" Jean-Marie said with an eagerness that startled Jack.

"Perhaps. Most sorcerers have them. But did he?" Jack once again reached for the phone, a thoughtful look in his eye, only to pause when he heard a faint footstep and looked up to see movement on the stairs above. He knew the culprit instantly. "And what are you doing up? You have the flu! Back to bed!"

The woman next to him started noticeably, obviously not realizing that someone else was in the store. After a moment, she relaxed and bent to look at a book she had pulled from a shelf.

"I'm bored." The boy standing half-way down the stairs lamented. His face was flushed and the brown eyes peering from beneath tousled brown hair were fever-bright, not surprising considering his illness. Physically he was ten; in reality — Jack cut off that train of thought and rose to stand at the bottom of the stairs, not noticing the shocked expression on the woman's face as she stared at the curious-eyed boy.

— — — 

Outside, R.C. glanced nervously at his watch, then at the darkening sky. It was almost time to call Amiko but he really didn't want to until Tarot came out. He shifted his weight onto his good leg, trying to ease the steady throbbing.

"Want me to check it out again?" came the whispery voice of Jesse beside him.

Turning his head, R.C. looked at the shadowy appearance of Jesse's spirit-form. Amazing, when one thought about it. In reality, Jesse was blocks away, in the car, apparently asleep. Yet, he was here also, his spirit-form functioning independently of his body, and with greater advantages. The perfect sneak.

"No, I don't think it's necessary," R.C. thought on Jesse's previous report; Tarot and Jack bent over the phone, seeking information on what they sought, another person — Michelle most likely — buried under a swelter of blanket in a bedroom upstairs, the vault down below, filled with objects heavy with evil, evil that made his head throb rhythmically.

"R.C.?" Jesse spoke sharply and R.C. turned his head to blink at him. "What's wrong with you?"

R.C. blinked again. "Too close to the vault, me' thinks. Too much evil in one place. The influences are leaking through." He looked back to the store and then to the nearby phone booth, not seeing the shrewd look Jesse was giving him.

"R.C., that vault's warded." The young man snapped his head around, looking at the spirit-form with surprised eyes. "Granted, the wards aren't as good as the ones Britt can cast and undoubtedly some of the evil is seeping through but not enough to affect you this way."

"Which means — " R.C.'s throat tightened and he took a hurried look around.

"Which means that, since it's highly unlikely Marshak would leave cursed objects lying about outside the warded vault, whatever's affecting you is coming from outside the sto — R.C., look out!!!"

Maybe it was Jesse's yell or maybe it was the sudden, sharp twinge in his leg that warned him. Not that it mattered as R.C.'s leg buckled. Not being a fool, he followed the path of least resistance into a shoulder roll. By stiffening his arm and pushing at just the right moment, he managed to get his good leg underneath him, spinning just in time to see Jesse, with a full-blown war whoop, dive through his trench coat-garbed attacker. This would normally distract even the most diehard assailant but this one didn't even flinch — just gathered himself and once again lunged at R.C., hands outstretched to grab.

Automatically, R.C. brought up his cane in a fencer's gesture. A taloned — taloned?! — hand snatched at it and then jerked back with a sharp hiss. The attacker moved back, eyeing him warily and shaking its hand gingerly. R.C. stiffly backed up, keeping the cane between them.

"R.C., that's no human." Jesse's voice came from behind and above the young man.

R.C. nodded, not taking his eyes from his assailant. He'd guessed that almost immediately, despite the disguise of trench coat, trousers, and hat. Now, from a relatively safe distance, he could see that the disguise was incomplete. There were no shoes on the splayed-toed feet and the eyes gleamed cat-slitted red. The skin — no, scales — were black-green and, he was willing to bet, hard enough to turn just about any blade. He knew its ilk of old and put a name to it.

"Daemon." The creature raised his head and eyed R.C. warily. R.C. eyed it back, no fear in his ancient eyes. Absently, the young man brought his cane down, gripping it with both hands. "And what does a daemon wish here?"

The daemon chortled, an evil sound, and did not answer. With inhuman swiftness, it leapt forward. R.C. twisted the cane, separating shank from handle and sliding free the silver saber-blade. Stepping back into a fencer's stance, he raised the slender sword and flicked it at the daemon's hands. With a shriek, the creature fell back, staring at his hands, now minus three of its eight fingers. The wounds spouted greenish blood.

"Ohhh, you will pay for that, little human." The daemon hissed. "Oh, yes, you will. Dangoth will take it from your hide and still leave enough for Azdemius." The daemon lunged forward abruptly.

R.C. froze at the second name but recovered quickly. Lips thinned, he whipped the sword up and across, the silver blade cutting through the scaly hide as if it were paper. His hesitation, however, cost him as the daemon's taloned hand struck his shoulder, ripping through the leather-layered Kevlar and to the skin below. The daemon hissed with satisfaction as blood welled from the talon marks. R.C. said nothing, his expression unchanging as he flicked the blade free of the green blood and readied himself for the next charge.

Above the combatants, Jesse watched helplessly. The major disadvantage of his spirit-form was his inability to touch and therefore aid his companions in battle. He could try hurrying back to his own body and return but by then the battle would be over. He was just contemplating fetching Tarot when, again, the daemon charged. This time R.C. sidestepped. Holding the sword handle with both hands, he swept it up and across, the sliver blade slicing through scales and flesh and bone. Momentum kept the daemon's body rushing forward several feet before collapsing, its head bouncing in the other direction.

"Good thing daemons are not known for their quick, original thinking," R.C. said dryly as he cleaned the blade on a section of the daemon's trench coat.

"R.C.?"

"Hmm?" R.C. picked up the shank from where he had dropped it and sheathed the sword. Gingerly, he began to search the clothing the daemon had worn. The daemon itself was now rapidly decomposing into an unappealing sludge and R.C. grimaced at the resulting stench.

"Azdemius doesn't come into prominence for another five years."

"You mean he didn't." R.C. corrected absently, frowning at what he pulled from one of the trench coat's pockets. It was a woolen cap, of the size and type a young boy would wear. He glanced at the now thoroughly sludged daemon then turned to look at the store, a thoughtful look in his eyes.

"Yeah, I guess I do." The Cheyenne crossed his legs, suspended six feet from the ground, and looked down at his friend. 

"So how much have we changed the past just by being here?"

R.C. looked up at him. "Apparently a lot more then we ever expected." He froze, his eyes catching by a movement on a far rooftop. "Go get the car, Jesse."

"Uh?"

"The car, Jess!" Tossing the cap into a nearby trash can, R.C. straightened and limped rapidly across the street, throwing glances up at the figures that followed him via the rooftops.

— — — 

Jack smiled at the boy, as the latter trundled down the stairs, yawning and trying to hide it. "No excuse, Ryan. But I'll tell you what, why don't I move the TV into the bedroom, eh, lad?"

Young Ryan, who had once been much older, looked disappointed but obediently turned to return upstairs. However, before he could take a step, the front door crashed open. Jack spun to see a young man throw himself into the store. He blinked as the man paused, panting. There was something familiar about the newcomer but his face was in too much shadow.

The newcomer spared him and the boy next to him a bare glance before looking at the woman. "Tar — unnnghhh!"

Something slammed into the man's back — something small and fierce and green. The man fell forward, just missing the stair railing. The cane he held flew from his hand, thumping to the floor just out of his reach. The creature darted upwards, sharp teeth bared, scurrying toward the gleam of flesh showing between jacket collar and short brown hair.

With a shriek that made Jack's back teeth ache, Jean-Marie threw the book she still held. It smacked the creature dead center, tumbling it from the man's back. The man flailed an arm, grabbing the railing and using it to pull himself into an sitting position, looking around frantically. The creature edged forward and the man ceased his search to kick out with his left leg, which, Jack noticed, was encased within a silvery brace. The brace struck solidly against the creature's jaw and it staggered back, hissing in pain. The next second, it shrieked as a dagger suddenly sprouted from its chest.

Startled, Jack looked at the woman who now stood posed with a second dagger in hand. Almost absently, he noted the dagger, a twin to the first, was silver with a gold cross in its hilt — a St. John's Dagger. How in the world did she get one — two of them?

"Wow." came from the boy next to him. Jack glanced at him then followed his wide-eyed gaze to the creature — or, rather, what was left of it — as it was presently turning into a nauseating pile of sludge. Nearby the newcomer got shakily to his feet, his back to them. Jean-Marie slid the dagger back into its hidden thigh-sheath and moved to help him.

"R.C.! Your shoulder!" 

For the first time, Jack saw that the man's jacket was ripped at the shoulder, revealing a glint of blood-caked metal. After instructing the boy to stay put, he started forward, pausing to pick up the cane. He stared at it, then at the back of the man's head. He knew this cane but not in the hands of this man.

The woman pried back the ripped edges of the jacket, making worried noises. The young man fended her off. "Daemons, Tarot. Heading this way."

" _Quoi!? Comme?_ "

As the man shook his head, Jack moved to stand behind him, though still on a upper level. "What the devil is going on?" he demanded in a low tone, hoping the other two would get the hint to keep their voices down.

Automatically the young man turned and Jack froze at the up-close sight of all too familiar — achingly familiar — features. Same brown hair, same pleasant attractiveness, same build. Only the eyes were different. Same color, yes and same shape but these eyes were far too old for someone this young. Turning, Jack looked briefly at the little boy standing at the foot of the stairs then back to the young man standing at the foot of another staircase.

"Who are you?" he asked urgently.

The young man gave him a twisted, mirthless smile. "Someone best forgotten."

Jack opened his mouth insistently but the young man cut him off. "There's no time now. We have to leave before whoever was with that demon brings help." He looked briefly out the window. "Here comes Jesse now." He stretched out his hand to take the cane Jack still held.

Jack hesitated. There were too many questions — who was this strange young man with Ryan's adult features and initials, and a cane so rare only two existed? And the woman, who, Jack suddenly realized, was no longer next to the young man — who was she to have a name like Tarot? And what of this talk of daemons? He glanced at the sludge. Well maybe it was a daemon.

"Where we going?" mumbled a sleepy boy's voice and Jack turned to see Tarot wrapping the quilt from the sofa around young Ryan.

"Somewhere you can sleep, mon petit cher. Now hush and let me carry you." As expected, the boy protested but didn't struggle as the woman picked him up and carried him toward the door. Jack looked once more at the intense young man in front of him and reluctantly nodded, reaching for his hat. With a vague look of relief, R.C. opened the door, allowing first Tarot and then Jack to slip out. A moment later, it was locked and Jack had the back door of the car open, allowing Tarot to slide in with her burden then sat down beside her.

"Go," R.C. murmured as he slipped into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut. A tall Amerindian with shoulder-length black hair eased the car from the darkened store, heading into the city.

"Where are we going?" Jack asked.

"The hotel we're staying at. We have to pick up the other two before they come looking for us. Along the way we'll drop you and the boy off at a church. That should be safe enough."

"You're not getting rid of me that easily. Not until I find out what's going on. But I agree about Ryan." He glanced over at young Ryan, now fast asleep with his head on Tarot's shoulder. "It would be best if he were in a safe place." He looked out the back windshield, searching the darkness. "Won't they follow?" he asked pensively.

R.C. didn't look up from the dagger he was cleaning. "They can't. At least not immediately. I killed their tracker."

"Tracker!? What tracker?" He paused, narrow-eyed then asked slowly. "Who were they tracking?"

The young man turned to look at him then shifted his gaze to the boy Tarot held. Jack followed his gaze. "What!? Why?!"

R.C. gave him a mirthless smile. "Power. Power the knowledgeable could use for their own purpose."

"Power? How?" Jack paused in thought, looking absently out the window at the dark, silent buildings. "France?" he asked tentatively.

R.C. and Tarot both nodded.

"I — see. And someone knows he has this power?"

"Apparently. That's the only thing I can think of. Or maybe — " R.C. paused, tapping the dagger against the dashboard. "Maybe that daemon wasn't following his scent. Maybe he was following the power." He seemed almost surprised at this thought.

"Yours or the boy's?" Tarot asked and R.C. snapped his head around to look at her. Her eyes meet his unwaveringly. After a long moment, he turned to look out the windshield sightlessly.

"The boy's," he said with certainty. "His power is as yet untapped, unchanneled. Leaking like a sieve, in other words. And if that's the case, then it would be an easy matter for a daemon to pick up the trail." His voice slowed with realization.

"Wait. Wait. Wait a minute." Jack leaned forward. "Who the hell are you all? Though you," he meet R.C.'s eyes in the rearview mirror, "I can guess you are. Or rather were."

The young man flinched.

"I am Tarot Morlaix," the woman sitting beside him said quietly, gently stroking back the sleeping boy's tousled hair. Jack noticed she had dropped the attempt to hide her accent. "My apologies for the deception but it seemed needed at the time. The man driving is Jesse Little Horse and the other is," she threw Jack a side-long look."R.C. Moore."

"R.C.. As in Ryan Christopher?" He prodded.

Tarot threw him a quick look then once again looked down. " _Peut-etre_."

"How?"

She smiled. "It's possible. You've done it, and Michelle, and John, and even — " Tarot glanced down at the boy, now firmly asleep.

"Time travel?" That made an odd type of sense. "You came back from the future? But how? And how long have you been here?"

"About six months."

"Six months. That was about the time Ry — " He looked at R.C. then at young Ryan. "We returned from France." He glanced back at her, noticing that she did not answer his other question. "Okay, here's the million dollar question. Why?"

Tarot laughed mirthlessly. "We had no choice. We —"

CRASH!!!!

"Sweet Trinity!" "Goddess damn!" " _Mon Deiu_!!" "What?"

All eyes snapped forward just in time to see a large daemon land heavily on the car hood. The hood buckled as the car slid sideways, going into a slow spin before stopping. The daemon lunged forward, outstretched arms shattering the windshield. Taloned hands reached for the driver's throat.

R.C. let out an outraged yell and thrust the dagger he still held into the daemon's near arm. It shrieked and slashed at R.C. with the wounded arm. R.C. tried to duck but didn't succeed as the hand smashed his cheek, rocking his head painfully against the door frame.

"No!" Tarot screamed, unable to shift the boy to reach for the concealed dagger. In front of her, Jesse ducked the arm aiming for him and kicked open the door, diving out into the street. Scrambling to his feet, he jerked a tomahawk from his belt and, with a Cheyenne war whoop that shook windows, brought it down with a meaty thunk into the demon's good arm. The daemon shrieked again and turned to face him. Jack forced open the door and slid out, reaching through to help Tarot out with Ryan.

"R.C.!" She turned toward the stunned man. Jack yanked her back.

"Run!" he commanded.

"But — "

"He wants Ryan. You mustn't let him fall into his hands. Run! We'll cover for you!"

Tarot hesitated a moment longer then, holding Ryan tightly, started rapidly down the streets. Jack watched until they vanished into the shadows then turned to open the front door and help R.C. out. The young man was dazed, staggering against Jack. Jack noted that despite his confusion, the young man kept the cane tightly clenched in one hand.

"R.C.? Come on, R.C.! Snap out of it." The young man blinked and Jack shook him hard. "Ryan!"

"Wha — what? Uncle J-Jack? What?" For a brief moment, Jack saw the man as he had known him for two years then his eyes cleared and grew old and he was the aloof R.C. again. "Oh, Goddess, it was another daemon."

"It IS another daemon!" Jesse screamed from where he faced the aforementioned daemon. "Help!"

R.C. reached into a thigh pocket and drew out a shuriken. With a deft flick of his wrist, he threw it. The shuriken thunked into the daemon's neck and it staggered back, attempting to clutch at the weapon but unable to due to the silver covering it. Jesse shifted the tomahawk to his other hand and slid forward, snatching the dagger from where it still jutted from the demon's arm. With a skilled movement, he thrust the dagger home. The daemon slumped to the ground, screaming thinly as the holy silver killed it as surely as anything could. They watched as it rapidly turned into sludge then R.C. looked up and around.

"Tarot! Where?"

"I told her to take Ryan and run. She went that way." Jack gestured toward the shadows. Turning, he saw Jesse glaring disgustedly at the wrecked car and sighed. "Looks like we'll have to walk."

"Looks like. Shall we — ?" R.C. jerked as a shrieked scream reached his ears. It was Tarot's voice. "Oh, Gods." R.C. bent down and snatched up the shuriken. Behind him, Jesse yanked the dagger from the decomposing daemon and took the lead, heading into the shadows. The screams continued, shrieks of rage and fear.

Jack kept pace with R.C., who, he was surprised to note, ran swiftly despite his brace. But then, he had fear to spur him on. The screams increased briefly then faded.

R.C. faltered and a low moan escaped him, then he lunged forward. The next second they left the shadows and saw Tarot.

She stood with her back against the wall, dagger in one hand. Three men lay at her feet, either dying or dead, eight more men surrounded her. She fought silently now, a grim look to her face and blood on her arm.

R.C. skidded to a halt, pausing long enough to let loose the shuriken and then, once his hands were free, to draw the shank from the cane. Thrusting it into Jack's hands, he moved forward, slashing at the nearest man.

Jesse didn't pause at all, just leapt into the cluster of men, blades flashing. Two men fell to join the one R.C. dropped and then the others were turning to face this new threat. A mistake on their part, as Tarot took advantage of their distraction to press her attack.

Jack paused, looking around for a weapon of any sort. Finally he spotted a pipe, left by someone in the garbage. Leaning the shank against the wall, he moved to R.C.'s side, staying clear of the flickering sword. The fight didn't last very long as two more men fell, one by the pipe Jack wielded, the other by R.C.'s sword. The others looked at the fierce expressions of their opponents then, as one, turned and ran.

" _Non_! Stop them! They have the boy!" Tarot threw herself from the wall, only to stagger off-balance. In a flash, Jesse ran past her and after the fleeing men.

"What happened?" Jack asked as he dropped the pipe. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, _mon professor_ , just a little off-balance." She straightened. "I ran, like you told me. For that park over there." She nodded toward a small, neat park across the street. "I thought I could get lost in the trees but these men jumped me before I could get there. They snatched the boy from me and carried him away before I could draw my dagger."

"Did they take him away on foot?" R.C. asked tersely as he wiped the blade clean on one of the dead man's clothes and sheathed it. He drew a handkerchief from a pocket and used it to bind the wound on Tarot's arm.

"Non, I don't think so. I heard a car, perhaps a van, drive away."

R.C. cursed fluently in both English and French, then paused abruptly, head tilted, listening. Jack noticed and straightened, tilting his head to hear better. Faintly he heard the sound of sirens.

"We better get out of here. I don't think we can answer their questions." Jack moved to help Tarot. "Let's try for the park. Jesse should be able to find us there."

As Jack and Tarot headed for the park, R.C. paused to pick up their weapons. A moment later, he rejoined them, heading for the deepening shadows. They were barely in the safety of the trees when the first of the police cars arrived. They moved back farther into the trees, watching as the officers secured the area.

"Lost them," said a sudden disgruntled voice behind them. Tarot barely choked back a scream and both Jack and R.C. jumped, the latter spinning with knife ready. Jesse stood there, a bag tucked under an arm. He set it next to Jack. "There was a car." He shook his head in disgust as he opened the bag, drawing out a box of gauze. "I stopped for some medical supplies and tried to call Amiko. No luck. She and Jari have already gone."

"Damn!" R.C. absently cleaned the dagger. "Just when we need them too." He sunk into thought for several moments and then added musingly, "Jesse, you'll have to go find them."

Tarot started and Jesse threw R.C. an undecipherable look. R.C. smiled grimly. "No choice. Go for it."

Jesse glanced at Jack, shrugged and sat down, crossing his legs. Confused, Jack watched as he closed his eyes and relaxed against a tree. Something rose from him. It was misty white and human-shaped and — and — it was Jesse! "What the!?" He started.

"Don't ask." R.C. advised. "Head out, Jesse. Try the store, that's where they'll head first."

"Right," Jesse said in his whispery voice and the spirit form sped away, heading back the way they had come. Jack watched until he was out of sight then looked at the living body of the young man, lying quietly, seemingly asleep. After a moment he turned to look at R.C., who was now sitting while Tarot tended his wounds. At her urging, he peeled off the ripped jacket and shirt enough for her to reach the wounds — the latter causing the wounds to resume bleeding — revealing smoothly muscled chest and arms, one shoulder marred by raking claw marks.

"There seems to be more to you all then meets the eye," Jack murmured.

R.C. glanced at him but other than that did not acknowledge the observation. "What are you doing with — with the boy?"

"You should know that better then anyone." Jack said thoughtfully, after a long moment's pause.

R.C. turned his head to look at the older man with sober eyes. "No. No, I wouldn't." He paused, then stated bluntly. "I never saw Michelle or John again after we returned from France and I didn't see you again until I was fifteen. Now, what are you doing with him?"

"I don't understand."

R.C. stared at him for a moment then looked away. "We came back to change the future — our future — and appear to have succeeded beyond our wildest dreams. Or should I say nightmares. We were told ever so carefully the major points that lead up to — down to — our future only to discover that just our returning to this time seems to have change everything. Everything is off!" He fell silent.

"Such as?" Jack prompted, when R.C. gave no indication of continuing.

"You have the boy. In the past I remember — " He swallowed hard and changed the subject abruptly. "There's the demons. There were demons summoned intermittently before but nothing really came of them, they were never really directed until 1995 when a minor cult leader named Azdemius learned of a way to open the gateway between the dimensions and make a deal with the One Who Lived Beyond. All he needed was enough power to do so."

"Power that somehow Ryan — you generate," he amended, still having trouble with the knowledge that the same person was somehow existing at the same time.

"Yes." He threw Jack an undefined look. "It had something to do with France and Mother Mary and the reversion to childhood. Somehow it gave me — us — a power. I never knew it existed until I was fifteen again and then — " He paused frowning. "And then I could use it."

"Just like that?"

"No. It took a trauma to force the power into working."

Jack thought of young Ryan. "What type of trauma?"

"I don't remember." R.C.'s dark eyes grew haunted and his voice far-away. "It was a cult, a summoning. I remember being taken into the chambers where the rites were held and being put on the altar and chained down." He stopped abruptly, gulping the cool night air. "The next thing I remember is waking up in a car, my leg," he looked at the brace involuntarily. "My leg was lame and — and — " He took a deep breath and steadied visibly. "The attempt didn't work completely but it worked well enough."

"Meaning?" Jack pressed.

"Meaning our world turned into a nightmare. A hidden nightmare, granted, but a nightmare just the same. The cult spread its influence secretly, using the powers given to them by — ," he faltered. "They created more cursed objects, selling them or giving them away as needed. More and more dark covens appeared. And more and more people died, sacrifices — " R.C. flinched suddenly as Tarot finished bandaging the shoulder wound.

"And what about you? After you were rescued?" Jack thought about Micki and Johnny, wondering what happened to them and afraid to ask. Absently, he looked across the street, watching the police as they cordoned off the area and wondering how long it would take them to start checking out the park.

"I was taken to England, though we didn't stay there long. Always on the move, always changing our names. The covens were after us, you see. They still wanted me. For whatever reason."

"'We'. You keep saying 'we'?" Jack didn't look at him, somehow he knew the answer.

R.C. was silent for a long moment. "'We', you and me. You were — would be? — would have been? — the one who took me from the coven's lair. And later you were our teacher."

Jack opened his mouth to ask of Micki and Johnny and of Elizabeth, then closed it, deciding he didn't really want to know.

R.C. pulled up the ruined shirt. "We finally settled in France with a group of sorcerers. It was there that certain friends of yours began to send other teen-agers. Tarot, Jesse, Amiko, Britt, Wayne and Jarita, who wasn't — isn't — a teen-ager."

"Just a general nuisance," Tarot muttered.

R.C. gently took and squeezed her hand, then returned his gaze to Jack. "Each one of us is — unique, if you will. That's why we were gathered together. The sorcerers thought they could train us to fight Azdemius and the covens but it didn't work the way they planned it. Oh they tried but by the time we could even think of fighting them, they had grown too powerful. So the sorcerers elected to do what they thought was the next best thing. They sent us back here, hoping we could change the past and keep the one we know from ever happening."

"And you succeeded."

"Apparently all too well. But is it for the better? Azdemius has the boy and he can cast the spell now rather than in 1995. It will work the same, perhaps even better." He pulled on the jacket Tarot offered him, looking over toward the alley they had left and the police searching it. An ambulance had just arrived.

"Damn! I wish the others would hurry."

"Your wish is our command."

Jack jerked and snapped his head around to look at the young woman who had appeared behind him. That she was tall for a Japanese was his first thought, that she was oddly clad was his next. Her outfit was black, with the flowing sleeves common to kimonos, and a hood, presently pulled up. Small pouches graced the cross-harness and belt she wore while two dark shadows jutting above her shoulders proved, much to Jack's surprise, to be sword handles. A young girl, East Indian by the look of her and perhaps Ryan's present age, stood next to her, clad only in a black wrap-around tunic with the hood drawn up over short black hair and simple sandals.

R.C. stood. "Jack, this is Amiko Makiko and the little one is Jarita Moore, my ward." Amiko nodded acknowledgment and Jarita looked at him with gleaming black eyes.

"Here." Amiko tossed a bundle to Tarot. "Thought perhaps you could use this."

Tarot grimaced but picked up the bundle and faded back into the shadows. "Found them at the store like you figured." Jesse stood and stretched out the kinks. "Inside, no less. Sorry it took so long to get back here."

R.C. grunted. "We're going to need a car. Maybe a van, Jesse. Think maybe you can find us one?"

Jesse grinned. "No problem! Be back in a minute." The young man moved silently into the brush, followed by young Jarita.

A few moments later, there was a rustle in the brush as Tarot rejoined them. She had changed clothing and now wore a suit similar to Amiko's minus the flowing sleeves and swords. Instead a gun was strapped around her waist and a dagger to her thigh. She had twisted her hair up and pulled the hood to cover it. The bundle, actually a knapsack, swung from her hand as she dropped on one knee to stuff what medical supplies were left into it.

"Tarot, which way do you think the car went?" R.C. asked.

"It sounded like it went that way." Tarot gestured toward the nearby intersection. "But I'm not sure in what direction. I was a tad busy at the time."

"Pssst!" Jarita stuck her head back into the little clearing. "Come on!" They followed her to the other side of the small park. There, Jesse sat in the driver side of a dark, slightly beat-up van. Sliding the door open, R.C. gestured all inside.

"So, kemo sabe, what's the plan of attack?" Jesse asked.

"Head for the intersection, the one north of where we were," R.C. amended, remembering that Jesse had not been with them when Tarot pointed it out. "And drive carefully, just interested passersby wanting to see what all these police are here about. The last thing we want to do is attract attention."

"If you got this van in the manner I think you did, you may not be able to help it," Jack muttered, from where he sat in the passenger seat.

Jesse threw him an amused look as he guided the van into a u-turn. "I got it from over there." He gestured toward a used car lot. "I bought it."

"Bought it?"

Jesse grinned. "Plastic is wonderful, isn't it? Just told them my van broke down and I just had to get somewhere and didn't you have an inexpensive one I could just charge and — " He noticed the look on Jack's face and paused. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes. Money." He turned to look at R.C.. "You couldn't have brought that much back with you."

"We didn't bring back any. If we had, we would have ended up with original bills all right, but they'd be duplicates. We could have ended up in a great deal of trouble. Just brought some jewels with us. Didn't really matter if they are duplicated. We sold them and — slow down here Jesse — played the stock market." He smiled grimly. "One of the things we brought with us was a list of the stocks destined to rise. We made a fortune in a month."

Jack shook his head slowly. "Oh Lord. There's your change, R.C. There's why everything changed so swiftly."

"Uh?" came from all sides.

"Your little advantage with the stock market! Maybe your buying those stocks kept someone else from doing so and maybe stopped them from doing something that kept Azdemius in check. Or maybe it caused someone to get money he didn't have in your past and he used that to aid Azdemius. Maybe — " He shook his head. "So many maybes. Right now we better concentrate on cold, hard facts — like those cops who are eyeing us." He turned to look at the others. "How do you propose to — ?" Then he realized what they were doing and froze, eyes widening in amazement.

Tarot was kneeling on the floor of the van, fixing a harness to a young, black-furred wolf that had not been there before. Jarita's tunic lay across a seat, sandals and Tarot's gun and holster resting on it. The young woman looked up at Jack and smiled.

"Simple really." She said, snapping a leash to the harness. "I'm going to take my wolf for a walk." She slid open the van door and slipped out, the wolf following her.

Jack raised his eyes to R.C.'s and saw that the young man was smiling slightly.

"Did you know," he said in a conversational tone. "that genetic engineering will advance quite a bit further than anyone realizes?"

Jack looked at him a moment longer then turned and watched as Tarot and Jarita — for who else could the wolf be? — wandered toward the inevitable crowd around the police line. Jarita was casting for a scent, her head sweeping back and forth.

"How did she get Ryan's scent?" Jack looked back at R.C. and shook his head. "Never mind."

Jesse chuckled. Suddenly Jarita yipped and strained back the way the duo had come. Tarot followed, seemingly reluctant. The wolf dragged her to the side of the road and then halfway around the intersection. Moments later, they were scrambling back into the van.

Jack turned and watched as the wolf's features flowed like quicksilver, shifting into a combination of human and wolf. The harness hung oddly from her changed frame.

"They put 'im inna car an' went that way!" The little half-wolf pointed down the northward street.

"Now what?" Jack asked.

"Now comes the fun part." Jesse turned the car down the indicated street and they started off. But not for long. At the next intersection, they once again pulled over and Tarot, with Jarita again in wolf-form, stepped out to make a circuit of the streets. Again Jarita indicated the northward street and again Jesse steered down it. Again and again they stopped at intersections and each time Jarita pointed them northward until finally a time came when she circled an intersection three times and could not find the scent of the car.

As Jesse turned the van around, Tarot coaxed Jarita back the way they had come. The young wolf walked along the northbound side, nose down, until finally she found the scent. Tail wagging, she followed it to a side road.

"Climb in, you two!" Jesse called and the duo rejoined them. While he eased the car down the road, Tarot unstrapped the harness, tossing it back into the knapsack and the next time Jarita scrambled out, she stayed out, following the scent with a steady pace.

After some miles of taking this turn and then that, she paused. Carefully she circled around then shifted to half-wolf form and gestured for them to join her.

"The car stopped here and two men got out, one of them with Ryan. They went this way." Jarita dropped onto all fours, though she stayed half-wolf, and lead the way up to an old-style Victorian home. She pressed her nose to the crack beneath the door. After several hard sniffs, she said. "They went in there."

The group looked at the house with its darkened windows and foreboding appearance.

"May I?" Amiko asked.

"All yours." R.C. invited.

The woman stepped up to the door and reached up a hand to knock. No answer. She knocked again, insistently. No answer. Trying the door, she found it locked. Absently she tested it then paused. Taking a deep breath, Amiko grasped the knob firmly and —

— twisted!

There was a click and the knob turned.

With a smile, Amiko pushed the door open and then ducked as a man leapt toward her, knife flashing. "Oooops! Company! Heads up all!" She reached for the man, grabbing the knife arm he so willingly offered her and threw him, hard. He flew an impossible distance, thunking into a tree hard enough to snap his neck.

Jarita yelped. "I'm sorry! I didn't scent him!"

Amiko patted her head absently, meanwhile keeping an eye out for others. "It's all right, Jari." She peered into the darkness of the building. Nothing could be seen stirring. "Shall we?"

R.C. grunted. "We shall. Jesse, we may have to make a quick getaway. You better stay with the van." Jesse looked disgruntled but didn't argue. "And don't let your spirit-form wander too far. There may be more coven members around."

Jesse nodded and turned back to the van. R.C. reached over and gently tugged on Jarita's fur. "Lead the way, sweetheart." Jarita shifted fully into wolf and led the way into the dark building.

Tarot frowned. Digging into the knapsack, she pulled out three flashlights; passing one to Amiko, another to Jack and keeping the last for herself. As one, they clicked them on.

What they saw in the light beams was nothing surprising — simply a room filled with antique furnishings. Nice furniture, Jack noted with almost absent-minded professionalism. He had no opportunity for further study, though, as Jarita lead them forward.

The young wolf lead the way unerringly from room to room until they finally reached what could only be the kitchen. Once there, she stopped before a door and scratched at it insistently, looking up at Amiko appealingly. The woman opened it and the wolf started down the stairs that presented themselves, the others following. From the stairs, Jarita lead the way to a pile of crates and boxes. She burrowed into them, whuffling and snuffling. Quickly, they tossed the trash to one side, revealing Jarita circling a trapdoor. Amiko lifted it with surprising ease, considering it seemed to be of very solid wood, and they looked down into darkness.


	3. Chapter 2

"No sounds. No one's near." Jarita, once again in half-wolf form, muttered. "But Ryan's scent goes down there and some others too!"

"How many?" R.C. asked.

"Don't know," she said absently. "Some new, some older. Some old go in but don't come out!"

"Maybe more then one exit," Jack said quietly.

"Maybe. Amiko, you go first."

Amiko complied, easing down the ladder. Jarita followed and then R.C.. Jack, after a careful glance around the basement, followed Tarot down.

Where they ended up was a tunnel running east and west. Jarita once again became full wolf and immediately began to trot east, her claws clicking on the concrete. R.C. grunted.

"We have to clip her claws again," he murmured absently. Tarot jabbed him with the flashlight and he looked at her in surprise before following after the wolf.

They walked for perhaps a couple miles, Jarita unerringly following Ryan's scent deeper and deeper into the tunnels, occasionally passing ladders going up and even a couple going down. After the first few turns made while following the wolf, Jack was lost and glad that Jarita was with them to lead them back out. He found himself walking next to R.C. and realized, for the first time, that the young man appeared to be limping worse than before.

"R.C., are you all right?"

R.C. shook his head. "No. We're approaching something intensely evil and it's making my leg ache."

Jack gave him a startled look. "What?"

The young man paused, leaning against the tunnel wall, breathing heavily. "A side effect of my power, if you will. The ability to sense evil. Something up ahead of us is very evil and I can feel it." He leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes briefly.

"R.C.?" Tarot had turned back and joined them, Amiko and Jarita waited up ahead. "Can you continue?"

He nodded. "I have to, not much choice in the matter." He straightened, looking around with a frown. "These tunnels seem familiar somehow."

"Funny. That's what I was thinking." Jack paced R.C., flipping the light beam over the tunnel walls. They did look familiar and—

"Lights off!" Amiko hissed from in front of them and Jack snapped the light off. That left only Amiko's light still on, her hand darkening the beam. "We're getting close. Listen!"

They did. Ahead of them, they could hear a faint murmur of voices. Slowly they crept forward until, at last, they could peer around a corner and into a chamber. Jack took one look and cursed avidly. "I don't believe it! It's the temple underneath Curious Goods!"

"Yes." R.C. said in a sickly voice. "I remember now."

The chamber was as Jack remembered it save now it was occupied. A number of people, men and women, filled the chamber, some wearing black robes, others normal street clothing. He looked among them, hoping to spot Ryan.

"There he is!" Jack followed Tarot's pointing finger toward a archway. There Ryan lay, apparently — hopefully — still asleep, still wrapped in the quilt. A robed man stood over him, obviously guarding the boy. Another man walked over to him and they began to talk.

"Great. How do we reach him?" R.C. muttered.

Jack frowned, eyeing the distance between them and the boy, then the surroundings. There was nowhere to safely hide until they reached the boy and no safe exit even if they did reach him. He thought briefly of the robes — perhaps with hoods pulled up? — but then saw that the robes had no hoods. Desperately he looked around and noticed for the first time that the pit, which they had sealed so carefully not five months ago, was open. Chunks of cement were tumbled up against a nearby wall.

"The pit! It's opened!" He hissed. "How did they get it open? It was warded."

"Warded?" Tarot look at the concrete chunks. "How?"

Jack described the wards they had sent in the still-wet cement. Tarot nodded absently at his description.

"I know that type of wards," Tarot murmured. "They were developed to keep something from breaking out; not to keep someone from breaking in. The coven simply shattered the cement and re-opened the pit."

"Damn!" Jack muttered, eyeing the pit. "So that's where the demons are coming from."

"Oui."

"Oh, Gods." R.C. said in the same sickly tone." There he is."

Jack followed the young man's gaze to one of the men in the chamber. He was a tall man, handsome with thick black hair and steely gray eyes, dressed in a business suit and twirling an antique cane idly in one hand. He paused to greet a woman and she half-bowed then straightened, looking at him with a worshipful gaze.

"Azdemius?"

R.C. nodded, his eyes thoughtful. "If we could kill him — "

A sudden snarl interrupted him and they all turned to see Jarita facing down a man who had crept up behind them. Amiko thrust the light into Tarot's hands and drew a sword, leaping forward. The man looked at his knife then at the longer reach of Amiko's sword and managed to scream before the sharp edge found his neck.

"Well, so much for the element of surprise." R.C. looked into the chamber and nodded. "Shall we?"

Murmurs of assent came from the others and Jack sighed, fingering the gun Tarot had lent him. "I knew I should have just written off my losses and never returned to this place," he muttered. Next to him, Tarot chuckled dryly and entwined her fingers in Jarita's ruff.

As one, they stepped into the archway, looking over the assembled coven. Weapons — knives, pipes, even the occasional gun — had appeared.

"Lord! They are the ones who attacked us!" One of the men, an arm bound by bandages, shouted suddenly.

The one R.C. referred to as Azdemius stepped forward, looking them over with a scornful gaze. His eyes paused at the wolf, then at R.C., eyeing him carefully before continuing.

"So you are the ones who managed to kill — how many of my men? Well, well. And whatever could you want?"

"The boy. For now that's all we want." R.C. said curtly.

The man rewarded him with a scornful glance. "That was a rhetorical question." He looked where Ryan still slept, now with three men standing over him. "Well, you can't have him. He must finish what destiny intended for him."

"Destiny had nothing to do with it! It was that damnable Astaroth! He's a boy now, nothing more. No harm to you and no help either."

"You sound so sure of that. What perchance do you plan? If you can't rescue him, kill him?"

"If need be." R.C.'s curt answer made Jack shudder with the realization that he meant it. Tarot rested a reassuring hand on Jack's shoulder.

The man attempted to stare R.C. down but could not meet those ancient eyes for long. He half-turned. "Kill them," he said, in an almost bored tone.

R.C. drew his sword and dropped into a fencer's stance. Amiko joined him, sword in hand while Tarot drew the gun she wore.

"Jack." R.C. said quietly. "You and Jarita go for Ryan. Grab him and head back into the tunnels."

Jack eyed the crowd facing them, doubting whether he could reach the boy but nevertheless nodding. A sudden shot made him start and then, when he saw a coven member fall, realized that Tarot was taking out the ones with guns. He followed suit. The coven drew back for a moment, eyeing them balefully, then lunged forward as one.

Jack fired until the bullets were gone then used the gun as a club. Next to him, Amiko and R.C. used their swords with an abandon that would have normally shocked the older man. He had no time to think of the others, only later remembering Jarita in first wolf form and then half-wolf, slashing and tearing with nails and teeth alike and Tarot emptying her gun into the coven then attacking with knife and fist and foot. But there were only so many of them and too many of the coven. Some even emerging from the tunnels behind them, overrunning them and dragging them down.

Jack kicked, hit and even bit, trying to free himself. Nearby he heard a banshee scream and abruptly the weight lifted from him. He heard screams of agony suddenly cut short and heavy thuds against stone. Slowly he sat up, then stood up, looking around.

R.C. stood next to him, reddened sword by his side. Blood ran from his nose to mingle with what was already on his jacket. His clothes were ripped and torn, steel glinting through the rends, the silver brace gleaming with an ethereal light. Next to him, Tarot gingerly reloaded the gun she still held, favoring her wounded hand and ignoring the blood that flowed from a cut in her temple.

A whimper attracted Jack's attention and he looked to see Jarita crouched half-conscious at Amiko's feet, blood flowing from a dozen wounds to cake in the fur of her half-wolf form. Amiko herself stood tall and straight, though with a hint of weariness, one sleeve torn and reddened, blood-stained sword pointing downward. There was an expression on her face he could not identify.

Slowly Jack turned his head to look around. Coven members were scattered carelessly about like GI Joe dolls when the day's play was over. Some had been shot, others stabbed, others looked as if a wild animal had gotten hold of them. But most looked as if they had been thrown against the wall with great force.

"How did you do that!?!?" A question, a demand. Jack looked at Azdemius, who, in turn, was looking at Amiko. He was one of the few coven members still standing, he and the three men standing over Ryan.

"Give us the boy or find out."

Azdemius stared at her, gauging her determination. As he watched this contest of will, Jack felt a hand on his arm and looked to see Tarot next to him. "Come, mon proffesseur. Let's get le garcon." Jack nodded and started forward. The three men looked at them and reached for weapons. Tarot raised her gun, the indication obvious: Draw and die.

The men looked at her, then at Azdemius.

"Face them or face me," Azdemius said coldly.

They reached for their weapons.

Tarot fired and one of the men acquired a third eye directly between the other two. The other two started forward and then were seemingly picked up and slammed against the wall.

"Thank you, Amiko." Tarot said, motioning Jack to get Ryan. Stepping over a body, he reached down and picked up the boy. Ryan mumbled and turned slightly but did not wake. Jack frowned at the heat he felt emanating from the boy.

"His fever's higher," he murmured to Tarot, as he rejoined her.

"A good thing, _peut-etre_. He'll think this all a dream." The young woman frowned. "I don't like this."

Jack followed her gaze and knew instantly what she didn't like. Azdemius was smiling.

"So you've won." There was a disturbingly mocking tone to the man's voice. "And what will you do now? Turn me into the police?" He chuckled. "Kill me, perhaps?"

"Sounds good to me," R.C. said harshly and the man laughed.

"Well, well. How serious you sound. Such a pity, isn't it, you won't have a chance. You see, the one whom I work for still values me, unlike that fool Astaroth. And in this value, we have reached an agreement." He snapped his fingers, beckoning from the darkness of the nearby pit a daemon. It shuffled up and forward into the torchlight. Its red, red eyes gleamed evilly and sharp fangs bared in anticipation.

Amiko took one look and shuddered. "R.C. . !"

"I know." R.C. flicked his blade clear of any blood that clung to it. "Protect the others. I'll tend to this creature."

R.C. ignored Azdemius as the coven leader chuckled. Instead, he slipped into the now familiar fencer's stance, stumbling briefly as his lame leg gave out. Blood ran even more freely from his nose and, now his ears, as the demon shuffled forward.

"No chance," Azdemius murmured in ecstasy. "No chance at all." He chuckled.

In response, the daemon moved forward. R.C. shuffled back then lunged, sword darting out. But pain slowed him and the daemon swung out a hand, slamming into R.C.'s arm, sending the sword sailing through the air. R.C. stumbled and fell to a knee, blood dripping on the ground.

Next to Jack, Tarot started forward only to be held back by Amiko.

"No!" The Japanese woman hissed fiercely, just loud enough for those near her to hear. "My abilities cannot work well against that daemon, even if I were not so weary. And even if we could kill it with silver knives and bullets, he would only summon more. No, let R.C. handle it."

Jack threw her an astonished look. R.C. handle it? R.C. couldn't even stand. Even now the daemon reached down and scooped the young man up. "Come to momma," The daemon chuckled then dropped R.C. into its embrace and began to squeeze.

R.C. choked as ribs grated painfully. One hand flailed, then scrabbled at the side of the daemon's head, finally hooking on a horn. Slowly R.C. raised his head to meet the daemon's eyes.

And then he smiled.

Ignoring the pain, R.C. pressed his hand flat between the daemon's horns. Almost immediately, a glow appeared around the hand. The daemon grunted in confusion as the glow began to spread around it, a deep red-black aura that seem to ooze from the creature's very pores. Its hold on the man loosened slightly.

R.C. tugged his other arm free and brought it up to rest next to the other. Closing his eyes in a look of concentration, he appeared to draw the aura to him. It crept up and around to surround him, shifting from the evil red-black to a soothing silver hue. More and more he drew to him until, at last, nothing remained of the daemon's glow or of the daemon itself.

The young man fell awkwardly to the ground. He lay there briefly, panting, the glow dancing about him, then forced himself back to his feet. He looked hideous with his blood-covered face and clothing and bared, blood-stained teeth. "Your turn." He panted at the coven leader.

For the first time, Azdemius did not seem sure of himself. He wavered, staring at this apparition with the silver aura dancing about him then at the boy laying asleep in Jack's arms.

"There are many more daemons. And it is easy to call them up." He glanced nervously at the yawning mouth of the pit then relaxed as a scrabbling sound could be heard.

"No. Not any more. Not from here!" R.C. threw out his hand and Tarot stepped forward, slapping the hilt of his sword into it. Smiling grimly, he flicked the sword upright and the silver aura crept upward to surround the blade. "No more! This ends now!"

The glow brightened, highlighting for a brief moment the words engraved on the saber-blade. The words were in Latin but Jack knew what it said. ' _Thus perish all thine enemies, O Lord_ ' it translated into. The aura inched upward until all of it surrounded the blade.

"No!" Azdemius shouted, obviously knowing what R.C. intended. He twisted the cane he held, flicking free a dark blade of forged iron. Tossing the shank to one side, he lunged forward, the blade darting toward his opponent's stomach. The young man barely managed to parry the blow, twisting his sword skillfully, forcing the black blade up and back.

"I hoped you'd do something like that." R.C. slipped backwards, sword held ready, then lunged forward. Azdemius parried expertly and R.C. barely managed to dodge the returning swipe in time. He slipped out of reach, a surprised look in his eye.

Next to Jack, Amiko let out a stifled groan.

"He is a fencer, perhaps better then R.C.," she murmured, watching as R.C. sidled forward, back into the foray. Gleaming silver and sober black crossed, thrust, parried, and parted, faster then the eye could follow.

Jack noticed Tarot fingering the gun she still held. "Shouldn't we help?"

"No! This is R.C.'s fight. It's something he must do," Amiko said, eyeing the pit warily. The scrabbling noises were louder now.

The two men seemed evenly matched in skill but Azdemius had the advantages of two sound legs and being unwounded. Inch by inch, he drove the younger man back, sneering as R.C.'s weariness showed in his faltering moves.

"So. Still think you can win?" Azdemius mocked. "Give up now and perhaps I will kill you quickly."

"Kill me?" R.C. spat fiercely. "You already killed me once. You won't do it again!"

Azdemius faltered in surprise and R.C. lunged forward, hate giving him strength. "You killed my mother! My friends! Everyone I cared about!"

Azdemius was hard pressed to defend himself. R.C. continued to slash, spitting out the words with a feverish intensity, "Left me crippled and destroyed my life! All our lives!" Using both hands, R.C. swung the sword, shattering the cold iron blade.  
Azdemius stumbled backward and over a body of one of his followers. He landed on his back, looking up at the young man now towering above him.

R.C. lowered the blade until it rested against Azdemius' throat. "You took everything away from me; my childhood, my friends, my family, my future. Now it's my turn."

"I don't even know you!" Azdemius gasped.

R.C.'s lips curled. "And now you never will." He flipped the blade upward, holding the hilt with both hands and stepped back. The glow pulsed in time to a heartbeat. Behind him, a clawed hand appeared from the pit, fumbling for a hold.

With a shout of mingled outrage and fear, Azdemius slashed at R.C. with the shattered remains of the sword. The slash was weak, however, skittering off the silver brace. R.C. snarled as he reversed the glowing blade and thrust it downward, falling to his knees as he drove the blade into the cultist's lower chest and deep into the floor beneath him.

Azdemius screamed, slashing blindly at R.C.'s face with the broken sword as tentacles of silver-hued power lashed out, creeping along the ground with blinding speed. Everything it touched was seemingly judged, anything lacking bathed intensely in silver flame. The mud pool, where once the faces of deceased coven members awaiting resurrection had appeared, danced with flame until the mud was gone and only hard clay remained.

To the far side of R.C., silver flame formed a barrier across the mouth of the pit. Agonized shrieks could be heard from it and something seemed to strain briefly against the barrier. The shrieks grew louder and then they began to fade as if the creature uttering them was falling. The aura brightened until it hurt in its intensity, then abruptly vanished.

Jack blinked to clear his eyes of the aftermath of the glow and looked around. R.C. leaned heavily on his sword, still embedded in the floor. Where Azdemius had fallen was a large silver area, burned into the floor and still smoking. Just beyond him a silvery partition covered the pit, sealing it for now and ever with a barrier far stronger then cement and wards.

"R.C.?" Tarot moved to the young man, kneeling beside him. However, when she reached to touch him, he sagged to one side and would have fallen if she had not supported him. Gently she cradled his head, stroking back his hair, murmuring soft words and not looking up as the others approached.

"Is he all right?" Jack asked anxiously, looking down at the young man's pale face. His eyes were barely open but all that could be seen were the whites and his breath came raggedly. After a long moment, his eyes closed and then re-opened, looking in an unfocussed way at them.

"What's wrong? Never see anyone collapse before?" he mumbled. "Help me up, will ya, Tarot?"

Tarot reached over to pull the sword from the floor and sheathed it, slipping it through a loop in the back of her belt. Reaching down, she settled R.C.'s arm across her shoulder and helped him up. He swayed dangerously, supported mainly by Tarot.

Amiko joined them, Jarita, now wrapped in a black robe, in her arms. She pointed with her chin toward the exit. "Shall we?"

Jack glanced around at the bodies of the dead and unconscious coven members, at the once-again sealed pit, at the room that still glowed faintly silver and nodded. It didn't take them long to find a ladder going upward and they climbed cautiously from the tunnels. The trapdoor opened into a store just a couple blocks of from Curious Goods.

Luckily the store was empty and it was a simple matter for them to break out and hurry back to the antique store. Once there, Jack shifted Ryan to one arm and managed to unlock the door, ushering all within.

"Take R.C. upstairs. You can put him in Micki's bed." Tarot nodded and obeyed, aiding R.C. up the stairs. Amiko laid Jarita gently on the sofa and followed them, returning shortly with two towels, one wet, the other dry. Jack laid Ryan down at the other end of the sofa, watching as Amiko unwrapped the robe and washed away the blood covering the girl.

"Shouldn't she see a doctor?"

"No, it is not needed. Look."

He saw that gashes had become severe cuts and severe cuts bruises.

"She heals very swiftly, does our Jarita. And the wounds are not serious. By tomorrow you will not know she has even been hurt. What we need now is something for her to sleep in."

Jack frowned thoughtfully then slid back the shelves that covered the door into a secret room. After a few moments of searching though the boxes stored within, he returned with a t-shirt once worn by the adult Ryan. As expected, it fit Jarita like a nightshirt. After assuring Jack that Jarita would not, in fact could not, catch the boy's flu, Amiko tucked both children in.

"Now, I must fetch Jesse." Amiko smiled at the startled look on Jack's face as she slipped off her cross-harness. "Hei. I forgot about him also. May I use your phone?"

"Of course."

Amiko called a taxi and, slipping on an old coat to cover her now-bandaged wounds and unusual outfit, stepped outside to wait for it.

Jack shook his head, gave the children an extra tuck-in and went upstairs. The door into Micki's bedroom was open and he looked within as he made up some coffee. R.C. lay in the bed, almost asleep from the look of it, his clothes piled on a nearby chair and the brace leaning against it. Tarot sat next to him, holding his hand and humming gently.

Jack poured two mugs of coffee and walked into the bedroom, offering a mug to the woman.

"You should tend your own wounds."

"As should you. Merci." She took the mug and smiled at the look on his face as he noticed for the first time the gash on his hand and another on his arm. "And your eye is swelling."

"Oh, great. I'm going to have a wonderful time trying to explain that to the others." He sat in a nearby chair, sipping the coffee and watching the young couple, absently running a finger over the symbol-engraved brace. R.C. was dozing now, eyes closed and mouth slightly open. "Is he all right?" He asked quietly.

"He will be all right," Tarot murmured. "Just very tired and very drained. Using the power does that to him." She stroked back the hair of the now-firmly sleeping man. "He will have nightmares for a time but they will fade." She looked up at Jack. "Always his subconscious tries to remember what happened that night when his leg was crippled and innocence lost. Always he refuses to remember and I don't blame him. For a while they will be worse, _je denser_ , but now, _peut-etre_ , now that there is no way for our future to have happened, they will stop."

"So now what happens?" Jack asked. "Do you go back?"

Tarot's hand tightened on the mug and for a moment Jack thought it might break.

"Back? _Non_. There is no 'back' for us. We have changed the future, yes but the future we came from — was it changed? Or did we _peut-etre_ create another future? When you went back into the past — remember? — did you change the future? _Non_. Would we go back to the one we left or the one we have created? And will that future be any better? _Peut-etre_ but we will never know. Here we must stay. Even if we wished, we could not go back."

"The object you used?"

" _Non_. No object. It was a spell. A very powerful spell but, like a cursed object, it had a very high price. The lives of those who cast it, the sorcieres who taught us and their apprentis. All dead." She did not look at him as she said this and Jack knew that he had been one of them. "Here we must stay." She smiled slightly. "But at least the future is brighter, non?"

" _Oui_." Jack raised his mug in a salute and smiled, a smile Tarot returned. On the bed, R.C. stirred slightly, muttering in his sleep and Tarot took his hand, squeezing it gently.

Some time later Amiko and Jesse appeared to find Jack and Tarot had moved into the kitchen. The bedroom door was ajar slightly to enable Tarot to hear R.C. if he called out in his sleep. Their wounds were now cleaned and bandaged and Jack held an icepack to his swelling eye. The two newcomers accepted hot mugs of coffee and joined them at the table.

"So now what?" Jesse grunted, looking slightly disgruntled at having missed the fight.

"Now we seal the chamber for good. With brick and mortar, which we should be able to get in," Jack looked at his watch. "just over six hours. Did you all know it's almost one o'clock?" Everyone groaned and Jack chuckled. A sudden cry from the bedroom distracted him and he grew sober as Tarot darted to her feet and into the other room. He could hear her voice speaking soothingly and R.C.'s gasping cries as he woke from whatever nightmare it was that had claimed him. Amiko grimaced and put down the mug.

"I think it best if we get some sleep. Jesse and I will return to the hotel. I think Tarot would rather remain with R.C. and Jarita is happy where she is. That is, if you don't mind?"

Jack assured her he didn't and the duo left. He followed them down to lock the door and check on the two youngsters, both fast asleep. Switching off the lights, he returned upstairs briefly. The bedroom door was now closed and he could hear the low murmur of voices within. As quietly as he could, Jack washed out the mugs, switched off the lights and went down to his room in the basement.

——

Later that morning, after all save the children had awakened and breakfast was done, Jack and Jesse went out in the van to a store some miles away that sold brick and mortar. While they were gone, the others cleaned up what was left of the sludged demon, moved the children upstairs and even opened the store on time with Tarot cheerfully handling the day's customers. R.C. remained upstairs, watching the children while Jack and Jesse found a nearby manhole that opened into the tunnels below. The chamber, much to their surprise, proved to be empty of coven members, dead or alive. Their day was spent in permanently sealing the chamber below the store. It was late afternoon by the time they finally finished. Exhausted beyond belief, the duo climbed back up to the street and made their way back to the now-closed store.

"All done?" Tarot smiled from where she stood behind the counter, counting up the day's tally, which, Jack noted with surprise, came to a nice amount.

"Yes. Finally." He stripped out of the coveralls he had worn over his clothing and handed them off to Jesse, absently counting along with the young woman. "Hmmmm. You want a job, Tarot?"

She laughed. "I have a job. Two actually. Three if you count trying to keep this group out of trouble. Jarita! Stop that!"

Jack looked down to see the wolf stealthily stalking his shoelace. "Well! So you're feeling better, eh?"

The wolf yelped happily and leapt on the shoelace then darted off. Jack winced as items tipped and tilted but did not fall.

"Jarita!" The wolf froze and looked up at R.C., who was sitting at the desk, idly thumbing through the manifest. "Go curl up with Amiko."

Jarita snuffled but trotted over to the sofa where Amiko dozed. With a mischievous gleam in her eye, she crouched down then sprang upward, landing on the woman. Chaos reigned briefly as Amiko awoke, already in attack-mode, only to freeze when she saw the happily panting wolf atop her. The others laughed as she once again collapsed.

"You will be happy to know," Tarot spoke up, "that the boy's fever broke about two hours ago. He is firmly asleep. Unlike a certain little mischief maker."

Jarita yelped happily from her place atop Amiko, who flinched and covered her ears.

Jack laughed and climbed up the stairs to join R.C., looking over the young man's shoulder at the open manifest. "Finding that interesting?"

"Hmmmmm?" R.C. looked up then back at the manifest. "Yes, very. So many items. Though I think we've found a few of them. Here, this Medusa Shard and this sewing machine. We have them in our vault."

"Vault?"

"Hmm. Vault. In New Orleans. Under the house." He flipped the large book closed. "Damn nuisance but we can't destroy them."

"Well, we must compare notes sometime. Which reminds me, what about that last Lucifer Book. Azdemius didn't se — " He paused as the look on R.C.'s face.

"We have the last of the Lucifer Books," R.C. said after a long moment. "After the murder, we snuck into the collector's house and tracked it down. It's safe and sound in a warded bookcase."

"Oh?" Jack turned to look at Tarot, who was presently finding the ceiling fascinating. "I see."

"I think I'll check on the boy," Tarot practically ran up the stairs.

Jack turned back to R.C., noticing that the young man was smiling — really smiling — for the first time since they had meet. R.C. shifted his eyes to meet Jack's and shrugged.

"We needed the information. Do you blame her? And as for comparing notes, maybe when you next come to New Orleans? We don't dare come here often. Last I heard, Ryan Dallion is still wanted for murder and I don't think I could convince anyone that I'm not him."

Jack chuckled. "True." He glanced idly out the window then peered more intently, shifting his gaze briefly to his watch. "Damn!"

"What?"

"Company. Micki and Johnny are back earlier then I expected."

The others followed his eyes to see the antique black car was just pulling up.

"It would be best if they didn't see us." R.C. reached for his cane and stood hurriedly. "The fewer people who know, the better. Tarot!"

Jack nodded his head in agreement. Tarot ran down to join them, pausing to face Jack. "Le garcon is asleep." She pressed something into his hand. "Call us if you need us, _mon professor_. We will come." She smiled, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and darted down the stairs to the back door, which Jesse held open. R.C. moved to follow.

"Ryan." R.C. paused but did not turn. "Good luck."

Jack heard a dry chuckle. "You too. And take care of the boy." And then they were gone. Jack looked down at the card Tarot had pressed into his hand. 'KNIGHT SHIFT', it read, 'Paranormal Investigations'. Underneath was a phone number. Smiling, he slipped the card into his pocket and turned to greet his friends.

———

Outside, R.C. slipped his arm around Tarot, letting the cane dangle. Tarot smiled.

"That wasn't so bad now, was it?"

"No," R.C. admitted. "But it would have been better if — " He grunted as Tarot punched him in the ribs. He threw her a surprised look.

"You are never satisfied."

"Come on, you two!" Jarita, once again dressed in her tunic, yelped from the open door of the van. R.C. noted her lack of sandals and scowled at her. She grinned back then popped back into the van, heading toward the back.

"Hmmmm." Tarot rested her head briefly against R.C.'s chest. "I could use some sleep, mon amour."

"It's not sleep I'm thinking of. Though to be truthful it's probably all I can manage at this time." She threw him a surprised look and he chuckled softly. He briefly held her close, looking back at the store he had been told so much about, yet remembered nothing of. It was a part of his past, a past he knew little of, yet was destined to be haunted by. And now, it appeared, it would be part of his — their future.

There were, he decided, worse fates.

———— 

A few days later Elizabeth arrived to pick up her recovering son. The boy, once again bright-eyed with curiosity, had been running wild all over the store for the past day, driving the trio crazy from trying to keep an eye on him, and so it was with a somewhat glad heart that they turned him over to his mother.

"Well, Ryan, you will be back, I've little doubt," Jack said, with a certainty that startled his friends. "And you can finish that book then." Jack gently extracted said book from the boy's hands.

"Okay," Ryan said reluctantly, reaching for his duffel.

"Ryan?" Elizabeth7 asked suddenly. "Ryan, where did you get that necklace?"

"Necklace?" Jack looked at what the woman indicated. Ryan was indeed wearing a short chain necklace with a ancient silver cross on it. The boy reached up to touch it.

"I'm not sure. I woke up wearing it. I kinda like it. Can I keep it?"

"Oh, yes. I gave it to him," Jack said a bit too hurriedly. "Just a loose piece of inventory laying about. Johnny, you're driving Ryan and Elizabeth home?"

"Yeah, yes. Let's go." Johnny threw Jack a surprised look then took the duffel from Ryan and herded them outside, leaving Micki to eye Jack in bewilderment.

"I don't remember that piece in our inventory."

"Someone brought in some items and I thought that little trinket would suit Ryan. A little added protection if you will." Jack turned away to stare at an crystal lamp without truly seeing it, aware that Micki was still eyeing him.

"Someone? The same someone who maybe had something to do with that black eye?"

Jack ignored the question, starting to whistle tonelessly. The black eye had still been visible when the young duo had returned, though it had since faded — not that it really mattered. It was the cross that mattered. He knew that cross, just as he knew the cane and the daggers. An ancient item that could only be used for good. R.C. must have given it to the boy and Ryan, deep in fever, remembered nothing of it or of anything that happened. Which was good.

Picking up an item and idly turning it in his hands, he thought of a boy and a man, the same yet different, both older and wiser then they appeared. Of a future that may have been and the future that could be.

And he wondered when he might be going to New Orleans again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When Ryan left I stopped watching the show. Granted his exit was outstanding and well-done but Ryan was the main reason I watched the show and I lost interest.
> 
> This was originally meant to be a trilogy. The first story, _Dusk Work_ (which was a crossover with Counterstrike (the TV series)) was a prologue to this one while _Dawn Duty_ would have been a sequel. Maybe sometime I will write them. :)


End file.
